


And Eventually His Lips

by lesbianophelia



Series: And Eventually His Lips [1]
Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Post Mockingjay, Pre-Epilogue Mockingjay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 19:48:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianophelia/pseuds/lesbianophelia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss and Peeta's first New Year's together after the war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Eventually His Lips

He’s nervous. She can tell by the way that he’s studying her as she scrubs their plates. Last time this happened was a couple of weeks ago, when he had asked her in a rushed whisper why she had tried to kill him at the end of their first Games. 

“I didn’t … I didn’t think it was real. Not with the way everyone talked about you, but I was trying to watch TV the other day. I don’t know why. I just … um … you were trying to kill me. You didn’t even think about it. You just aimed and … I asked you to! Why did I ask you to?” 

It took her a long moment to think of a good answer. “You loved me. You said so yourself, right after you told me to do it. Why were you watching TV? I thought you were supposed to–” 

“I don’t care what I’m supposed to do,” he said, his voice a little bit harsh. She closed her eyes tightly, expecting another episode. “I’m sorry. I don’t. I tried to, I just don’t.” 

“If it helps, I thought you were going to kill me first,” Katniss said weakly, surprised when it earned her a small, sad smile. 

“Maybe a little bit. You gave me a pass.” 

He left not long after that. She laid awake all night after that, trying to get the look in his eyes out of her mind. 

She’s not supposed to push him. She knows this, especially since it’s drilled into her during every session on the phone. Pushing him could only trigger him more badly. It’s always more badly, never in the first place, a fact that doesn’t make her feel any better when she hangs up. Still, whatever he’s going to ask about her, she wants to get it over with. 

“I have something for you,” he announces before she asks what’s wrong. 

“What?” she asks, and he smiles. 

“Well, it’s New Year’s Eve, isn’t it?” he asks. 

It is, but other than Greasy Sae saying it in the morning, it really hasn’t had much impact on her. “I didn’t get you anything.” 

“You didn’t have to. I’ll be right back.” 

She nods, grabbing a towel and drying the plates. Her mind races the second she’s alone, trying to think of whether or not she could find something in the house to give him, but he’s back before she can think of anything better than one of the lonely balls of yarn her mother left. 

The gift he brings over is huge. He shifts his weight nervously when she opens it. It’s a canvas, and as she tears the paper away further, she sees that it’s a portrait. 

Olive skin, a thick black braid, silver eyes, it’s her. Well, it’s supposed to be her. She’s been painted very generously. There are no burn scars, for one, but mainly she’s surprised by how graceful he thinks her features are. 

“It’s from before,” he says as she runs her finger along the painted braid, as if reading her thoughts. 

She nods, wondering if it’s okay to be as overwhelmingly sad as she suddenly feels. 

“Thank you, Peeta.” 

“It was after the Tour, I think,” he offers. “There isn’t a lot that I remember but I remember, um, I remember working on this.” 

She can feel the tears welling up in her eyes and hates herself for it. She’s not sure what else to say. 

The corners of his lips turn up in a sad smile. “I’m sorry. I thought it would be a good gift. I know … I know how much you miss him.” 

She tries hard not to let her voice shake as she speaks. “Him? Peeta, you’re still him.” 

“Barely,” he says. “It’s okay. I don’t blame you. I miss him, too.” 

He’s right. She misses Peeta. The Peeta that painted this, that saw her as being so beautiful. She sets the canvas down and stares at her feet. 

“Katniss?” he asks. “You miss him. Real or not real?” 

Before she’s entirely sure of what she’s doing, she’s crossed the space between them and wrapped her arms around him tightly. She’s sobbing and he’s holding onto her tightly. “Yeah, real,” she whispers, ashamed of herself. 

This isn’t the first time that he’s comforted her like this since he got home. He’s spent plenty of time in her bed with her over the last few months, the only exceptions during particularly bad nights – like the week he saw the end of their first arena. 

His hand finds her hair and plays with it. The gesture is so gentle, so unexpectedly Peeta, that she takes a step backwards, looking at him. 

“I’m sorry. Was that okay?” he asks. 

“Absolutely,” she says. “You just always liked my hair.” 

He smiles. “Yeah. That part didn’t really change too much.” 

She steps forward again, her lips pressing against his for only a second before she steps back. 

“How about that?” she asks, unable to meet his eyes, exactly. “Was that okay?”

He sort of laughs. “Yeah. That was definitely okay. I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to kiss on New Year’s Eve anyway.” 

She looks over at the clock and frowns. “Not yet.” 

“That’s okay,” he says, his eyes still trained on her. “We’ve got plenty of lost time to make up for.”


End file.
